Strange Miracles
by Black-Raven3
Summary: Sometimes, even the most tragic turn of events can turn out for the best. And even in grim times, the dimmest light can bear hope. Miracles can happen, when fate has plans for you and your new family. AU Season 1/Book 5. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Giving up someone you love is never easy... Giving up your own child feels as if you're ripping out your own soul. The pain of labor was bearable compared to what came after. But it had to be done. Her dear sweetheart could never know. It would break his heart, and she could not have that stress burdening him. One night of adultery would not ruin her marriage to the man she loved.

Unable to even look at it, as the doctors checked its vitals and carted it away, she stared blankly at the ceiling as her own health was seen to. Being catholic, she could not have had it aborted, but she had arranged to put it up for adoption. The nice lady from child services had informed her that they already had a couple lined up over seas. How exciting! It would be well cared for, she was sure, and would get to see more of the world than she ever had.

Forcing such further distressing thoughts from her mind, she heaved a dreamy sigh. In just a week she would be back with her beloved. Of course she would make him her peach pie to make up for how long she had been away. She felt just terrible lying to him about her 'sick mother'. It had to be done, though. He would not be cross with her over something he did not know about.

* * *

Numbness encompassed him as he stared at the body, eyes trailing over her beautiful face. She looked tranquil, despite the blood spatter. The shock of red across her pale features caused his eyes to drift to his own hands, and the bloody knife clutched there. She had not died... not right away... Not until her eyes turned black, and the man broke through the door shouting in a strange language...

What had he done?

* * *

Grim and steady-handed, he stared down his friend, a cool rage simmering in his gut. How dare he? He swore after she died, that he would never go in that room again. Here John was trying to convince him to torch her things. Indecision warred with anger at the very notion. The upstart hunter in front of him had no clue... He blinked rapidly to clear moisture from his eyes, some logic returning. Oh... John knew... but he did not have to live with the guilt of murdering his own wife.

The one room in the whole house that still held traces of her... No. It stayed, along with all of her stuff. His voice was tightly controlled as he growled, "Get out of here. And if you step foot on my property again, I'll kill ya."

* * *

Heart heavy, he wiped a stray tear away as he carted the last box from the room. He felt a fool for having held on for so long. Nothing but a ghost created by his own mind... John had been right. Loosing an exhausted sigh, he made his way out to his truck, stacking the box beside the rest in the bed. She had always been a giving woman... he felt it only right to donate it all, instead of burning it. A fitting tribute to the type of wife she'd been. He had never treated her as good as she had him.

Taking a deep breath, he closed the tailgate, cursing quietly at one of the boxes tipped and spilled open with the force. Climbing up, he began carelessly scooping the odds and ends back in, his skin tingling unpleasantly at being forced to touch the reminders of his own failure. Most of it were the knick knacks she had loved to collect. Cutesy animals, flowers... others were empty photo albums. He had burnt most of the pictures from them. It hurt too much to look at them for long.

Moving to toss one of the books back in, he paused as a thick sheaf of papers fell loose from the empty pages. He stared at it oddly before slowly stooping to pick it up. It must have been tucked between the cardboard reinforcing the covers. The notion of simply tossing it aside crossed his mind, weariness already long settling into a deep depression. He was not sure he wanted to read whatever it was. It held some obvious importance if Karen hid it so.

The very thought spurred him to glance at the header of the top paper. The words caused a feeling like ice to course down his back. Why did Karen have documents from child services?

* * *

The summer heat scorched Privet Drive, creating a desert effect even among the vainly kept lawns of the middle class suburban neighborhood. No one wished to be outside of their air conditioned homes during the 'dog days' of summer. Least of all the boy bent over tending the flower beds outside number four.

Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, and exacerbating the beginnings of a nasty sunburn. He did not seem to notice or care. Intently focused on pulling weeds, he paid no mind to his surroundings, save when a shadow fell over his hunched form. Haunted green eyes blinked up at the older gentleman standing over him. Twinkling blue eyes met his own, though the normally jovial look had dimmed considerably from memory.

The old headmaster wore a plain business suit, his beard trimmed short and neat. Harry nearly did not recognize him at first. Sitting up, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed the unnatural arrival yet.

"Sir?"

"Harry, my boy, it is good to see you. Though, dear me, we should get you out of the sun! Come along!"

Confused, he none the less followed the professor's urging. Climbing to his feet, he followed the tall figure to the front door of his aunt and uncle's house. He chaffed at the thought of going back inside. Dudley had taken to taunting him about Cedric... Harry had woken the house more than once from nightmares of the events from the last trial. Vernon had nearly pitched him back into the cupboard under the stairs, until Harry had reminded him that people could be watching.

Startling as Dumbledore rapped smartly on the door, the teen fidgeted uncomfortably, mind racing with possibilities as to why he was here. Perhaps something had happened? He somewhat doubted that even Dumbledore would remain so calm and placid if something had happened to Sirius or one of his friends. So he waited impatiently for his aunt to open the door.

When she did, an ugly look crossed her face as she caught sight of Harry. He figured she had not meant to react in such a way in front of company, by her apologetic frown at the older wizard. She schooled her expression to one of mild curiosity.

"May I help you, sir? If my nephew has been causing trouble in the neighborhood again, I do so apologize."

Dumbledore waved her off with a grandfatherly smile. "Oh, not at all. Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Dursley. My name is Brian Wulfric, and I am from child protective services."

Harry felt shock course through him at that, though hope prickled in his gut. Maybe...? Petunia's expression dimmed, friendly smile slipping for a moment before cementing in place.

"Mr... Wulfric, I am sorry, but there must be a mistake."

The twinkle returned to Dumbledore's eyes, though Harry thought it was distinctly unfriendly. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, as the elderly wizard's smile brightened to match. He shook his head, withdrawing some folded papers from the inside pocket of his jacket. He offered them to Petunia before politely shouldering his way inside. Harry followed silently, far too interested in the turn of events to mind his Aunt's ferocious glare.

"I am afraid not, Mrs. Dursley. You see, we have received some complaints from the neighborhood regarding your son, as well as concern for the welfare of one Mr. Harry Potter... I am assuming that this is Mr. Potter?"

He directed a questioning glance at Harry, for Mrs. Durlsey's benefit. She spluttered a moment, at a loss for words as she read over the papers. Dumbledore winked once her gaze was averted. The hope grew, as did his curiosity.

"Now, we can do this quietly, or I can call for police assistance..."

"NO!" Petunia colored and cleared her throat at her own outburst, lowering the papers. Her knuckles were white as she clutched them, nearly tearing them in some places. "No... I apologize. This is simply unexpected."

Dumbledore hummed politely, glancing up from his idle perusal of the family portraits. They held a distinct lack of Harry in them. "Well, that is why they call it a 'surprise inspection'. All of the details are in that order. I am to be given free access to your home, to inspect living conditions and ensure the well being of all children housed here. If I am opposed in any way, I can have you arrested."

Ignoring Mrs. Durlsey's shaking form, he turned his full attention to Harry, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and guiding him towards the stairs. "Harry, why don't you show me to your room? We can have a private chat there. Don't be afraid to tell me anything at all if you feel it's relevant."

Harry felt as if he were walking on a cloud as he heard his aunt choke on thin air. Repressing a grin, he nodded solemnly, leading the way up to his door. The locks and cat flap were still firmly in place. He nearly wished Dumbledore were a real agent, though it might have been just as well, by the dark frown the headmaster directed at the devices. Likewise for Dudley's old, broken toys shoved in the corner. He had made efforts to tidy the place up, but the great whale had thrown a fit when he discovered Harry tossing the ruined things from the window.

The bars from when he was twelve had not been replaced, but the new window had been nailed shut with painstaking care. It had taken Harry the better part of a month to pry it open without alerting his relatives. All in all, any real agent would have whisked him from the property in a heartbeat had they seen. Dumbledore did not look happy with the conditions, but he did seem sincere in his wish to talk.

Withdrawing his wand from his jacket pocket, the headmaster uttered a spell, causing purple light to shoot out and cover the door and window. Seeing Harry's curious expression, he explained lightly, "A silencing spell. Your aunt would no doubt love to eavesdrop. Though I fear it is not a conversation for her ears."

Taking a seat in the wobbly desk chair, he motioned for Harry to likewise sit, looking serious and grim. The expression made Harry nervous, but he complied, happy feeling at his aunt's fright dissipating as he claimed a seat on the edge of his bed. The older wizard scrutinized him, and he fidgeted. He knew he did not look good. Far too thin, the sunburn only served to highlight the pasty skin not touched by the scorching orb outside, and the bruises beneath his eyes telling of his lack of sleep.

Finally, Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I am sorry, my dear boy. I should not have sent you back here after last years events."

Shrugging, Harry picked at a loose thread on the comforter. In all honesty he was almost glad he had been sent back. He did not think he could stand Molly Weasley's pitying looks and nagging if he had been sent with Ron. He quietly stated such, causing Dumbledore's frown to deepen.

"There are always options... One of which is why I am here. I had been intending to have you brought to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix later in the summer, however plans have changed, and new information has been brought to light."

"How so?" Harry's voice was rough from disuse, causing him to wince. Peering at him over his glasses, the older wizard conjured two bottles of butterbeer, handing one to Harry. Accepting it gratefully, he closed his eyes in bliss at the first taste. Despite hours spent outside in the heat, his aunt had refused him water from the tap, forcing him to drink from the garden hose. Even that had gotten him a berating, and he had been left parched and nearly heat-stroked after she shut off the water.

The headmaster waited patiently for him to finish his drink before explaining himself. Perhaps for good reason, as Harry choked on his own spittle. "It seems that I was wrong, when I told you that your only living relations were the Dursleys."

"W-what? Who?"

Harry sat forward, eager to hear the answer. Maybe this mysterious relative could take him! Almost anything would be better than the Dursleys. As if reading his mind, Dumbledore raised his hands in a placating manner.

"The matter is a confusing one. Yes, even for me... Did you know that some witches chose to use concealment charms to hide their pregnancies?"

Harry frowned deeply at the seemingly irrelevant question. Seeing the skepticism, Dumbledore pressed on. "Some do so for vanity, others to hide an infidelity... however during the war, it was not uncommon to do so, to protect both mother and child. It was not particularly shocking for Lily to simply show up one day with a baby in arm, without having ever shown signs of being pregnant."

Pausing to give Harry time to digest the information, the wizard took a small sip of his own butterbeer. Squinting at him through his glasses, Harry's mind worked furiously. He felt a nagging sense of suspicion over Dumbledore's wording, though he dare not think it just yet. Shifting his weight impatiently, he stared. At last the headmaster took pity, setting the bottle aside.

"The strange circumstances begin, when not a trace of a birth record could be found at Saint Mungo's. Even home births are magically recorded. Rather in the fashion of the Hogwarts student list, actually. During the time the discrepancy was noted, you and your parents were already under the effects of the Fidelus Charm. It was assumed that because of your age, the powerful magic actually erased the records."

He sighed, gathering his thoughts. "Such unexpected happenings are not so unexpected when dealing with such strong magic. At times the intent is so strong that it manifests itself strangely... But I digress. It was not until very recently that an alternate possibility presented itself."

Peering at Harry carefully over his own glasses, the twinkle in his eyes brightened before dimming a bit. Leaning forward, Harry scowled slightly, impatience warring with respect. Sensing this, Dumbledore hurried to his next point.

"As you have no doubt noticed, I have posted guards to watch over you while you are here... However it is not simply in this aspect that we keep an eye over your safety... Despite their hatred for muggles, the possibility exists that the death eaters may attempt to get to you through mundane means. I have a squibb friend keeping an eye out for your name in muggle records.

"There is no delicate way to put this, Harry, and for that I am sorry... They discovered your birth record through... oh... what is the term?" He frowned, reaching up to pet his beard. "Axing? No... Hax? Ah! Hacking. Yes. Illegal, but effective. The records certainly filled in a lot of missing information as to your birth. Harry, your mother and father adopted you when you were mere weeks old."

With all of the stalling on the Headmaster's part, Harry was nearly expecting it, though the shock was by no means lessened. His mind had connected the dots, but refused to process the possibility until Dumbledore stated it. It worried him that he did not feel anything in particular about the information. Surely it was no joke, as the headmaster was not known to be cruel.

Mulling it over, he ignored the worried look directed at him for his silence. What did he feel? Surprised... That was all. Perhaps a very mild inkling of hope. Perhaps he should feel cheated and angry? But no. Those emotions did not seem to fit. In his mind, Lily and James Potter were his parents. They obviously loved him enough to sacrifice their lives for him, despite not being his parents by blood. The new information certainly did not change the fact that they were dead, or that Voldemort was out for his hide.

It really did not change anything at all. At least not until he thought upon the headmaster's previous words. Perhaps his birth parents were still alive, then? That thought caused a bundle of nerves to grow in his stomach. He glanced up at Dumbledore searchingly.

"You're here to ask if I want to meet my birth parents?"

The older wizard sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing a hand over his eyes. It struck Harry that he looked exhausted, and more his real age. He had been too focused on the image of Dumbledore he knew, to see the heavy lines around his eyes, and the seeming frailty of his hands. He felt almost guilty, though he did not know why. He had a suspicion that he was the indirect cause for the old man's current condition. He grew distracted again as an answer was at last forthcoming.

"In a way... There was only one name listed on the adoption contract... 'Karen Singer'. She is deceased. The documentation indicated that she was unmarried, with no father listed. With some digging, we have discovered that she was indeed married." He hesitated a moment before pressing on.

"I believe that she lied due to an indiscretion... Her husband likely had no clue as to her actions, or was against it, by the lack of his involvement in the process. The only reason I propose a meeting, is that he has recently begun hounding child services regarding the issue."

The news inspired the urge to laugh, though Harry repressed it. The Dursleys were right about him being a bastard, for all the wrong reasons.

.

.

.

* * *

**Note: **Sooooooo. Yeah. New plot bunny ate my soul while I was trying to update Guarding Death and Death's Visage. This is going to be a shorter one (I hope), and better updated for its duration (I hope). Let me know what you think, and how I'm doing. This is my first attempt at a story like this.


	2. Chapter 2

Bobby paced the airport terminal, nerves and high emotion causing him to be far more impatient than normal. Not a little anger fueled his movements. How in the nine hells could Karen have kept this from him? She put a child, -her- child up for adoption, without even telling him. Or him noticing. He felt hallow and wrung out after countless nights spent impersonating agents, and hounding the Sioux Falls child services agency for information.

He had tried talking to them as himself, but they had refused to give him information, despite being her husband, and holding the original contract. 'Privacy Act' his ass. Through persistence he had found out more through having Ash hack into the records. He thanked god the government agencies had actually gotten with the times and put most of the old records into computers.

It shocked and tore at his heart to think that she had been too afraid to talk to him. Thinking back on what type of a person Karen had been, he let out a weary sigh, finally slumping down into one of the uncomfortable chairs. She had an affair. He knew the kid wasn't his just by the date he (_Congratulations! It's a boy!_) was born on. No doubt she would have been too ashamed to admit it. She had been heavily religious, and traditional. Even if he wouldn't have cared beyond the obvious, she would have.

There had been a point when Bobby had gone out of town to check in on some car parts in the next state over. When he had gotten back, Karen had been frazzled and nervous, but he had figured she was just feeling guilty for getting into his liquor. Nearly a quarter of his good whiskey had gone missing. He had thought it strange, she had never been a drinker, but he had never gone out of town before since they had gotten married.

Now, he felt like a royal fool. The signs had all been there. The mood swings, the loss in appetite, refusing to let him see her without clothes. Then... her mother had gotten sick a couple months later. She had been gone a lot longer than she should have been, but he had likewise chalked it up to her overly caring attitude. She had assured him that her mother was in an extremely bad way, and that she wasn't sure when she would be back. After a while he almost thought it was her way of asking for a divorce, except for her daily calls.

Then she returned. She had been different, but he had not noticed in his relief to have her back... Shortly afterward... He forcefully rejected the vivid image of blood stained hands. Reaching into his breast pocket with jerky motions, he withdrew a well worn paper and photo. He had finally gotten up the nerve to send an inquiry to the English agency, posing as an FBI agent on a missing persons case.

He had received a response quicker than expected, from 'Brian Wulfric' requesting to meet with the kid's alleged father. They had talked over the phone, Wulfric quizzing him for information to double check his connection to the boy. He winced, looking over the letter. Not 'boy'... the kid had a name.

The letter detailed a short description of the chi- Harry's life. His adopted parents had been murdered when he was fifteen months old, and custody defaulted to the woman's sister. Tentatively, he was grateful the kid didn't fall back into the system. Reading the by now familiar words, he wondered what he thought he was doing. Just yanking the kid's life apart as if he had a right. He was established in England, even attending a private academy, and likely didn't have a clue about being adopted until Bobby couldn't leave well enough alone. Harry wasn't even his by blood... But that didn't change the fact that he was _hers._

Even if just to see him... talk to him. Despite not being tied by blood, Bobby could not shake the feeling that he should take responsibility. He had loved Karen with all of his heart... still did, even despite knowing everything she had done. Harry Potter was the last connection he had to her, besides his own haunted memories. The notion was selfish, but he refused to dispute it.

Eyes falling to the photograph, he scrutinized the kid's features for what felt like the thousandth time. He was scrawny, with a rats nest of black hair that made even Bobby cringe. But it was his features the hunter was more interested in. Emerald eyes stared up from the photo, capturing his attention immediately. They were Karen's through and through. So was the hair, for that matter, aside from color. She had always been embarrassed every time her perm wore off, forever running to the barber shop to get the unruly locks under control.

His nose was likewise hers. It was easy to pick out her features against the unfamiliar ones. It was her features which spurred him to his feet out of nervous impatience as the arrival of Wulfric's flight was announced. The anger had dissipated almost entirely at his observation of the picture, leaving behind a type of fear that he refused to acknowledge. Even if the kid liked him, he could not get attached. A hunter's life was no place for a child. John had taught him that too. The ungrateful idiot.

Thoughts of the other hunter made him curse loudly, garnering dirty looks from other nearby loiterers. Digging through the pocket of his flannel shirt, he withdrew his cellphone, punching the speed dial and hurrying over to a deserted corner of the terminal. After several rings, he nearly growled in annoyance, until at last the other end was answered.

"_Bobby_?"

"Yeah, it's me. Listen... I got a situation over here. I need you to pick up my calls."

There was a lengthy pause, and for a moment, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. "_Everything alright over there? I'm only a couple hours out if you-_"

"No, it's nothing' serious." He fought to keep his voice normal. This _was _serious! Just... not the type he would bother John with. He still had ill feelings towards the Winchester in spite of him being right about Karen's belongings... It had been John's advice that led to him finding out...

"_... Okay, you tell everyone to call my cell?" _

His eyes widened slightly and he cursed again. "Balls!" Sighing heavily he scrubbed at his eyes, darting a glance towards the arrival queue. There was a surprisingly long list of passengers, making him anxious even as he panicked at his oversight.

"_Right, I'll swing by your place then. I got Sam and Dean with me, just a heads up." _

Mind working furiously, Bobby could not draw up an alternative. Wulfric wanted to inspect the house and see proof of his and Karen's ties. Thankfully he had not destroyed all of the photos of her... He still had their wedding photo. Coughing quietly, he sighed.

"Sure... that'll work... Just keep your cards close. I'll have company."

He hung up without waiting for a response, sweat breaking out as he caught sight of a tall elderly man accompanied by a familiar boy. It didn't lend much comfort that Harry looked as nervous as he felt. Though to his credit, the kid did not seem to be panicking or annoyed. Bobby certainly was a little bit annoyed. Wulfric had not mentioned actually bringing Harry with him for this 'meeting'. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, he squared his shoulders and strode forward to meet them, hoping he looked more confident than he felt.

Extending his hand in greeting, he could not quite draw his gaze from Harry. He looked almost the same as in the photo; a bit older, though to his displeasure, he was still scrawny, and he looked stressed and pale. He wondered with self-doubt whether or not it was his doing. The kid stared back, expression closed off, though quizzical. He was not sure whether to take it as a good sign.

"Ah, hello! Mr. Singer, I believe we spoke over the telephone. Call me Brian, please. This is Harry Potter. Forgive me for not informing you beforehand, but circumstances have changed, if all works out."

Bobby's guard went up immediately at those words, though he kept his expression even. "Oh? Hope it ain't nothing too serious. And call me Bobby, please. Mr. Singer was my father."

He shifted his weight awkwardly, uncertain of how to act under the scrutiny. Wulfric was watching him with keen interest, and the kid was just staring curiously. He cleared his throat, offering his hand to the kid. Obvious hesitance in his stance, Harry got a deer-in-headlights look, before slowly shaking the offered hand. The kid's grip was light, but strong, contrary to his build. It made Bobby wonder if he played a sport.

Awkward silence followed the introductions, broken only by Wulfric politely excusing himself to collect their bags from the claims area. Bobby mentally cursed the old man, swallowing nervously. Planning on meeting the kid, and actually doing it were two entirely separate things. To his chagrin, Harry was the first to break the stilted atmosphere. He spoke hesitantly, though seemed to gain confidence as the words escaped.

"Mr. Singer... erm, Bobby? I didn't know about any of this until a couple of days ago... and I know that you didn't either. And I know it must be difficult- I mean to say, it's a lot of information to take in... But I would like to get to know you... If you want that is."

Harry finally turned his gaze to the floor, fidgeting anxiously as he awaited an answer. The words had been difficult, but rehearsing them during the flight had helped. At least when having a similar talk with Sirius back in third year, they had been too distracted to be nervous about the entire affair. Bobby Singer was an intimidating man just by looks, but his obvious nervousness lent Harry courage. They were in the same boat with this situation.

"That's a..." Bobby floundered for the right words, conscious of the shaky ground they both stood on. "That's mighty nice to hear. Listen kid, I don't do the whole 'parenting' thing well, and I don't exactly live the lifestyle for it." Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out slowly, steadying his own nerves for a moment. "But... I would like to know you. You might not be mine by blood, but that doesn't change the fact."

Any further comments were staved off by Brian's return. He pushed a trolly with an honest to god travel trunk on it. Bobby scratched his beard at the sight. He did not know of anyone who still used those, as opposed to suitcases, but he shrugged it off rather quickly as a cultural thing. The old man beamed at them with twinkling blue eyes, happily oblivious, or ignoring, the signs of discomfort from his companions.

"Shall we?"

The drive back to Bobby's was blessedly short, Brian keeping up a steady monologue of inane differences between England and America as he spotted them on the drive. In truth, Bobby thought the kid was about ready to kick the guy out of the cab too by the time they pulled up the driveway. He was a bit nervous about the state of the junkyard, but refused to be embarrassed as the two foreigners looked around while stretching their legs.

"Ah! This must be a 'scrap yard'!" Brian seemed amused and excited all at once as he wandered over to peer into one of the wrecked cars. Bobby could not help but raise an eyebrow at the kid, getting a slight smirk and shrug in return.

"We don't really have many scrap yards in England, that I've seen anyway."

"Whatever floats his boat. Don't mind the mess, but be careful if ya wanna wander."

Rumsfeld let out booming howls at the new presences, but a quick look from Bobby had the large dog's tail wagging as he jumped up onto the hood of the truck. Shaking his head at the dog's antics, he caught Harry staring at it. Raising an eyebrow, he could not help but ask, "Have a thing against canines?"

"No... Just I used to have one in England." Harry seemed slightly sad at stating such, and Bobby could understand. A man's dog was his best friend. He could not imagine giving up the mutt snoring away a dent in the hood. Clearly his throat loudly to get the old man's attention, he gestured towards the house.

"Wanna come in and get the official stuff out of the way? I'm hungry."

Smiling despite the almost rude question, Brian nodded, ushering Harry to go ahead of him as they followed Bobby up the porch and inside. The house was in little better shape than the outside. Bobby was no maid. But he had put painstaking effort into cleaning up the obvious messes, and stowing anything 'unnatural' down in the basement. The living room/study/library looked nearly bare from lack of books, but he had made up for it by placing pictures and the less objectionable statues and items on the shelves.

His guard raised slightly as he caught Brian looking over a holy bronze dagger he had set on a stand to make it look decorative. The kid seemed drawn to the photos first. They were the few of Karen he still had. Their wedding picture was center on the fireplace mantle, flanked by two of her knick knacks he had not been able to part with. Silently moving to stand next to him, Bobby felt awkward in his sadness as he looked at the happy scene.

"She was beautiful."

He spared at glance at the quiet comment. Harry had a strange look on his face as he stared at the picture, as if he were not sure how he should act regarding Karen. Bobby could respect that. He shook his head, wondering again, just what he was thinking, actually contacting the kid.

"She was... Kindest person I've ever met. Wish ya coulda met her. Circumstances aside."

They were joined by Brian after a moment, breaking the contemplative silence their quarter had fallen into. "My! What an impressive collection you have, Bobby. I've not seen some of this like since my time spent with a museum. But we shall have to talk more on that later."

He peered at the pictures, humming thoughtfully. "There is little doubt of your connection. Admittedly, I investigated your marriage license when you first contacted our offices in England."

Bobby's eyes widened slightly though he quickly covered it by turning to sit in one of the chairs. No way he could have gotten spotted out, and still have someone show up. Brian chuckled at him, claiming a seat on the couch. He peered at him over his glasses, giving the hunter the feeling of being ten again in a principal's office.

"Rest assured, Bobby, we understand why you did such, and considered it a commendable effort. It solidified the decision to come here, by your determination. We operate a bit differently than your American agencies, and understand that sometimes, circumstances and feelings change. As Harry was willing, so too were we."

Harry remained standing during the conversation, turning his eyes to the odd collection of items littering the book shelves. Dumbledore was right. Some looked old enough to be in a museum, and just as expensive. Strange statues, knives, carvings; even what looked like a canopic jar used for mummies in Egypt. He thought it a bit strange that a mechanic would have such things, but shrugged it off. He figured that everyone had to have a hobby.

Some books did take up shelf space, mostly non-fiction on automobiles. One shelf contained what looked like theology and religion books, while another housed anatomy and medicinal tomes. A strange mix to be certain, but glancing at the statues, he considered that it would perhaps go hand in hand. The items looked like they might hold more significance than merely their age. Bobby might have such books to help identify the pieces. And he more than understood the need for emergency references should accidents occur in the garage.

His attention turned back to the conversation, when Dumbledore asked about Bobby's job. "What sort of work do you do?"

The man shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Mostly auto repair; towing, tune-ups, replacements. I sell scrap metal when it's in higher demand. Business is slow sometimes, but I got enough saved up for belt tightening to be unnecessary."

Harry thought it made sense. Bobby did not look the type to work a nine to five job at a desk. Any further talk was cut short, as the dog alerted them to a car pulling up outside. Neither Harry or Dumbledore were much concerned, though Harry thought it strange when their host jumped to his feet to peer out the window. It was as if he were expecting someone unpleasant. Though he quickly relaxed, looking annoyed.

"Sorry gents, just the hired help. I got a guy who drives down from Arlington occasionally to help out around the place. Forgot I gave him a call after I talked with ya over the phone. I've got a few projects due that I've been neglectin recently."

Dumbledore waved him off. "Oh, it's no trouble at all! Does he stay here during such times, or an inn?"

Bobby paused to consider, removing his hat finally to adjust the fit. His hair was brownish-red, with hints of gray. "He stays here. He has two boys around Harry's age, so I have 'em stay in a guest room. It's too long of a drive down for them to go home every night, and hotels are expensive."

The answer seemed to please Dumbledore. Not for the first time, Harry wondered what the headmaster's angle was. Were they simply here to meet his real mother's husband, or was Harry here to stay? Someone knocked on the door, prompting Bobby to excuse himself. Thus left student and professor some time to speak in hushed tones.

"What do you think so far, Harry?"

The wizard fidgeted, finally wandering over to take a seat next to the headmaster. "I think it's a bit too early to tell."

Dumbledore patted his knee before offering him a lemon drop. The familiar gesture made Harry smile, even as he shook his head in the negative. Shrugging, 'Brian' popped the sour treat into his own mouth, mulling over his thoughts for a moment.

"A wise thing to say. I understand it is a lot for you both to take in. You are complete strangers. But I do hope you give each other a chance. If all works out, you will be staying here for the rest of the summer."

Further conversation was put to an end, as Bobby re-entered, followed by an even more intimidating man, and two teens. The new man had stubble growing on his jaw, brown hair not yet touched with age. He carried himself strongly, expression guarded as he took in every detail of the room, including the occupants. Harry felt rather like a hare being stared down by a wolf, though he sensed no danger from the look.

The two teenagers with the man stared at him with open curiosity, though the oldest looked wary of the new presences. The younger of the two looked curious and thoughtful, shaggy brown hair nearly obscuring his eyes from view. They were of obvious relation to the man. Bobby looked a curious mix of nervous and annoyed at the man's presence, though clapped a hand to the youngest teens shoulder.

"Brian, Harry, this is John Winchester, and his boys. Sam, and Dean." He made introductions, and Dumbledore got to his feet, extending his hand in greeting to John.

"Hello! Pleasure to meet you." Harry was undecided, but followed the example, offering his hand to the one indicated as Dean. He received a funny look from the two, and he wondered for a moment if people didn't greet each other differently in America. After a quasi staring contest, John broke it by smacking the back of Dean's head, prompting a scowl, though Harry's offer was accepted. His grip was hard, but Harry bore it, even returned the pressure challengingly, before the youngest likewise broke the contest of wills by shoving Dean out of the way.

"Hi! I'm Sam." His brother's grip was lighter, though no less strong. He seemed the good natured of the two, for which Harry was privately grateful. Though, from his experience with other children, he could excuse Dean's behavior as merely an over protective older brother. He had seen much the same of the Weasley children, simply never directed at him personally.

"John, why don't you take the boys and get yourselves squared away? Brian and Harry are going to be stayin the night, so take the other two rooms."

The headmaster missed the look which passed between Bobby and John, as he turned his back on them to reclaim his seat. Harry pretended not to, though it peaked his interest. A knowing sort of look, as if more was being said than what was stated. Sam looked opposed to leaving so soon after meeting someone new, but John firmly directed them up the stairs with their belongings, leaving Bobby and his guests to their own company once more.

"Sorry about that, Harry." Ah, so his exchange with Dean had been noticed by more than just John. "Dean isn't used to havin kids other than Sam around. They're home schooled." He explained. Harry nodded slowly.

"It's fine... A friend has siblings who act similar sometimes."

Nodding, Bobby shrugged, leaning against the fireplace. "Their mother died a few years ago. Not the most well adjusted family, but they're close; just between us. I trust John with my life though."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, "Certainly understandable. Such tragedy only serves to strengthen such ties in the best of circumstances. Of course, I will need to look into them as well, once I am back at the office."

Harry still found it slightly off-putting how well Dumbledore could act. It certainly made him wonder, though he pushed such thoughts aside for now. The topic of conversation moved to more inane subjects, such as the weather, and Bobby's normal eating habits. He was amused, but not much surprised, when Bobby admitted that he was not a chef, preferring to order out or keep meals simple.

Awkwardness aside, Harry found himself liking Bobby. The man was strong spoken, and had yet to withhold his opinions on the topics broached by Dumbledore. He had even caught a snipped of conversation through his boredom where-in Bobby expressed deep disdain for organized religion. He wondered idly if that proclamation was due to Karen's death, or if it was his opinion even before. He had said she was religious.

One thing for certain Harry had come to a decision on, was the topic of his birth mother. Karen Singer gave birth to him, but then cast him aside. He could not hate her for it, as he did not yet know the reason behind it. But she was a complete stranger to him. He was sad for her death, but not overly affected by the news. However, as Bobby had said... she was his wife. Harry believed that he should give the man a chance. So far as he could tell from the information Dumbledore had given him, Bobby had no hand at all in Karen's decision.

Footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of Sam, cutting the talk. The younger teen shifted nervously on his feet at finding himself the object of three separate stares, but overcame it rather quickly. "Dad said to tell you that we brought pizza, since we know you can't cook for shit."

Harry stifled a grin as Sam held up his hands at Bobby's glare. "His words, not mine."

"Yeah well, ya use that language again and I'll be washing _both _your mouths out with soap. Git, and tell your daddy he'll be working on the Mustang in the morning."

Nodding dutifully, Sam turned on his heel and made his way back upstairs. Before anything more could be said, Dumbledore's cell phone rang, startling the man himself in addition to Harry. Fighting not to stare at the sight, his ears perked at the one-sided conversation.

"Hello? Ah! Remus, good to hear from you. How are you?"

The headmaster's expression was one of patient interest as he listened. Harry had to resist the urge to snatch the phone from his hand, at the news that Remus was on the other end. He had not heard from the professor since third year. Watching Dumbledore's expression, he could see that whatever news the werewolf brought, was not good. The twinkle dimmed a bit, and his expression turned stoney. Even Bobby looked impressed in his more discrete observation.

"Yes, I see... I am overseeing the Potter case at the moment, but this most certainly takes precedent."

Anxiety clenched Harry's gut. Something had obviously happened back home. "No, no. It is no trouble. My return flight is not scheduled for another two days, however I can book a new one immediately... Inform Minerva and Severus, please. Also, have Sirius begin packing... Yes, of course, you as well. I will see you on the morrow."

Hanging up the phone, the Headmaster got to his feet, looking grave. "I am afraid I must cut my visit short, Bobby. An emergency has come up which requires my immediate attention."

Bobby stood up straighter, looking concerned. "Yeah, sure, it's no problem. In your line of work an 'emergency' is a bit more serious than late paperwork, I gather."

"Indeed. Thank you for your hospitality. I have one favor to ask of you. I have completed my assessment thus far, and like what I see. I would appreciate it if Harry could perhaps stay here for a day or two. Consider it a 'testing of the waters' if you will. Another agent is being sent over to complete the observation process, but he will be a couple of days."

The request threw both Harry and Bobby off, though for different reasons. Harry would have liked nothing more than to go with the Headmaster to find out what was happening; and Bobby looked uncertain, rubbing the back of his neck. After a long moment of silence, the man at last sighed.

"Yeah... I suppose that'd be okay."

"Brilliant! If you'll excuse me? I must speak with Harry for a moment."

Some of Harry's worry and ire were stifled as the headmaster led him out onto the porch. Before he could ask, however, a hand was raised to silence him. The professor spoke in hushed tones, handing Harry the cell phone.

"Death Eaters have attacked the Ministry. Several aurors were killed, and the Minister was wounded during the skirmish. I must go try to keep the situation under control. Do not hesitate to call if anything happens here. It is enchanted, so it can not be taken away from you. I trust Mr. Singer is a good man, however I have been wrong before, and prefer not to leave it to chance. While you are here, I trust you know to hide your school things, and do not use magic unless it is a real emergency."

Dumbledore paused, waiting for acknowledgment. Harry nodded seriously, pocketing the phone. If the Ministry was under attack, there was nothing for it, and no use arguing. He did not like that he was being excluded, however, he understood Dumbledore's position a bit more, after overhearing the argument between he and the Minister last year. The headmaster patted his shoulder.

"Good lad. Now, Sirius will be arriving in two days. As far as Mr. Singer is concerned, Sirius is your caseworker. He has been checking in on you for years, while you were with the Dursleys, thus how you know each other. Past that, use your own judgment. I must go."

Dumbledore re-entered the house, though Harry stayed where he was, mulling over the information. He was elated that he would get to see Sirius again, but given the circumstances he took it with a grain of salt. He only hoped that his godfather was alright with Harry's real origins. No use fretting until he arrived, though. For now Harry faced the daunting task of spending two days alone with a house full of strangers.


	3. Chapter 3

Bobby left with stilted words of farewell, driving Dumbledore back to the airport. Harry knew the headmaster could have simply apparated, but he knew appearances were important. It left Harry in a very awkward position however, as the scent of food wafted out from the house, signaling the Winchesters were downstairs. Had Bobby told them he was leaving? Shifting his weight uncomfortably, he considered a moment. He was hungry. Sooner or later he would have to go back inside, and it would look strange if he simply sat out here until Bobby got back.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry sighed, shuffling slowly towards the door. It startled him when another form appeared on the other side of the screen. Dean peered out at him, looking unhappy, though he opened the door for Harry to enter.

"Where'd Bobby go?"

"Erm... driving Brian to the airport... There was an emergency back home that he couldn't ignore."

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Harry drew in a deep breath, mentally prepping himself for his next words. Rehearsing his speech to Bobby had been easy, speaking to a strange teen his own age could not be that much harder. He had no wish for an American version of Dudley plaguing his time here. Under the scrutiny, he held out his hand hesitantly.

"Look, I am sorry... if I've caused any problems that I'm not aware of. I'll be staying here for a couple of days at least... so I would like to at least be on friendly terms."

Nerves coiled as Dean simply stared at him for a moment longer. It occurred to him with sudden clarity that perhaps this was how Draco had felt, extending a hand of friendship on the train to Hogwarts that first time. Such did not make the little ferret anything less, but he could understand the ensuing hostility. The feeling of rejection was quite humiliating. He had nearly lowered his hand back to his side, before Dean snatched it up, grip brief but less crushing than the first time. He shrugged his shoulders, harsh expression lightening.

"Nah, it's okay. Sorry I nearly broke your hand. 'S just weird having someone other than Sammy around while we're here."

Nodding his head despite not understanding the logic, Harry blinked as he was waved inside, stomach rumbling. Dean quirked an eyebrow at the audible noise, causing Harry to blush.

"Couldn't eat much before the flight."

"Well come on then. Plenty of food so long as Sammy hasn't eaten everything."

They were greeted by Sam and John in the kitchen. The table was only big enough to seat three, pressed against the wall as it was. Various papers and ordinary items were shoved against the wall, which housed what looked like a heavy curtain. He found it strange, since there was no window behind it, but shrugged it off as some strange American thing. Sam greeted him with a smile, waving him into the remaining seat beside John. The man was intimidating, but less so, with an olive caught on the stubble below his lip.

None the less, Harry squirmed under the hard stare he received. The man paused to wipe his face with a napkin before getting down to business, as it were. Harry really was beginning to wonder at their social skills.

"Why are you staying with Bobby? If you don't mind my asking."

Something about his tone told him there was no option on whether or not to answer. He was saved for the moment, by Dean handing him a paper plate with a slice of pizza on it. His stomach rumbled again, far more audibly. He figured he would be forgiven for his silence, as he brought the slice to his lips. It was wonderful. He normally did not like onion, but the rest of it masked the taste enough to ignore. He had only experienced the delight of pizza rarely in his life. The Dursleys had considered it far too plebeian, except for when Dudley demanded it on special occasions.

Witnessing John tapping his finger impatiently on the table top, Harry thought it prudent to quickly swallow his mouthful and set the piece down. Clearing his throat, he pondered what exactly he should say. Obviously Bobby had not told the Winchesters anything. Though, logically, he figured it would be hard for them to miss, if his... step-father (Dad? The question of what to call Bobby made his head reel) was serious about wanting to know him.

"Well, you see... Mr. Singer invited me here. Mrs. Singer was my mother."

Everyone startled as Dean knocked over the paper towel holder. He blinked owlishly at them, blushing faintly as he righted the object on the counter. Harry could not blame him, honestly. If they had known Bobby for a while, it would be just as shocking to them as to the people directly involved. It was John who broached the awkward silence that ensued.

"You're Karen's son?" There was a hint of disbelief in his tone. "How come Bobby never mentioned you?"

Harry shrugged, prodding his slice of pizza longingly, though too polite to try dodging anymore questions. "Neither of us knew. She put me up for adoption when I was born."

John seemed the mull the information over, as if calculating the validity. Another habit to file away. Harry decided that these people reminded him of others he had met who had participated in the last wizarding war. Taking a tentative guess based on John's age, Harry decided to turn the tables a bit.

"Were you on active duty, Mr. Winchester?"

The sudden question seemed to stump the man for a moment, before his lips quirked into a smile. He had a nice smile, Harry rather liked it more than the stare. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned back to his pizza while he waited for an answer.

"Yeah. 'Nam, seventy-one to seventy-three. How'd you guess?"

Harry shrugged wiping his face with a napkin, mind scrambling. He really wanted to lie to these people as little as possible. "My parents, my adopted parents, that is, were killed during a civil spat in England. I figure, it may as well have been a war, from how many people died over it... The police got involved years too late."

Down-playing the wizarding war caused him near physical pain. Genocide was something he considered a big deal! Thankfully John seemed to understand, nodding. "Where're you from?"

"A small village near Wales... Godric's Hallow, originally. I've lived with my aunt and uncle in Surrey since I was a year old."

Some strange expression crossed John's face before disappearing. "I heard of it. Half the town was leveled in a fire some years back. Guess that explains why. I thought it had the stink of a cover-up, probably didn't want the real reason behind it going international."

The news made Harry flinch before he could suppress it. He knew his house had caught on fire after Voldemort tried to kill him, but he had not known the extent of the destruction. The man shot him an almost apologetic look, inferring the reason behind his expression. None the less, the pizza tasted like cardboard now. He ate automatically, listening with only half an ear as Sam engaged the man in an argument over school.

"But Dad, why can't we just stay with Uncle Bobby this year? I could-"

"You know why, Sam. Don't start this again."

It seemed like an old topic, the back and forth words nearly rehearsed. Personally, Harry did not have a clue why John would argue against Sam attending a public school. It was none of his business, however. He had problems of his own without jumping into a conversation he had no place in. Dean looked distressed as he watched his brother and father, their tones growing heated. At last, the older boy stepped in.

"Hey, Sammy, leave Dad alone. He's been driving all day, and we're all tired. Why don't you go read or something?"

The look of betrayal on Sam's face was keen, and even Harry felt a bit guilty despite having not been involved. Standing from his chair, he stormed out of the room and up the stairs. Somewhere above them, a door slammed. John let out a ragged sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face while sparing Dean a thankful look.

"Sorry you had to hear that, Harry."

He offered no more explanation or apology on the topic. "Dean, why don't you show him to his room? I doubt Bobby did."

The other boy seemed eager to leave, motioning for Harry to follow, and heading for the stairs before the wizard could even stand. They left the man cradling his face in his palms, looking ragged and tired. The charged atmosphere was nearly stifling, but Harry paused to snag his school trunk. Mentally praising Dumbledore for his forethought, the scrawny boy had little trouble aside from the bulk, wrestling it up the stairs.

Dean had waited for him, thankfully. Bobby's house really was bigger than Harry was used to, and the upstairs was split into two hallways at the top of the landing. Motioning him down one hallway, the older boy spared a surprised glance at his trunk before waving him into one of the rooms. Situating his trunk by the foot of the bed, Harry observed his surroundings. The room was small, though bigger than his bedroom at the Dursleys. It held a door which led to a closet, a full bed, a nightstand, and a small desk and chair set. Two windows allowed in light, while giving a nice view of the salvage yard. The decoration was lacking, but it looked wonderful for being a guest bedroom.

The other boy cleared his throat, gaining Harry's attention. "The bathroom is last on the left on this hallway. Mine and Sammy's room is across from it. My dad's is right across from yours, and Bobby's is the first door on the other side."

He hesitated a minute before offering, "If ya need anything, Sammy doesn't bite. But my Dad?" He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dad needs his beauty sleep or he turns into the Beast."

The reference was lost on Harry, though he had a feeling he should know it. Shrugging it off, he was at least grateful that whatever animosity Dean had felt had been dispelled, as it were. Harry really was beginning to resent the silences that seemed common in this place. It was as if they were adverse to companionable silence, or at the very least, idle chatter. Despite not being big on talk himself, it was grating.

"So, erm, what do you do here, while your dad works on cars?"

Dean blinked, looking uncomfortable for some reason. "Me? I help. Sam usually sits on his ass reading all day. Kind of a thrill kill... You ever work on cars before?"

"No. Done plenty of gardening and house work, but my uncle would never let me touch his company car unless it was to wash it."

"That kinda sucks, dude. Hey, why don't you hang around while Dad works on the mustang? If Bobby'll let you, I mean. Seems like you two'd have a lot of catching up to do, or something."

Shrugging, Harry scuffed a toe against the hard wood floor. The notion of learning auto repair had never actually occurred to him. He admitted to some curiosity. "If Bobby doesn't want to talk or anything, sure."

"Cool. Ah, I'll leave you to get settled in, yeah?"

Without waiting for a response, Dean wandered out to bang on the door to his and Sam's room. The kid had obviously locked the door from the other side, from the sounds of the doorknob rattling. Curious, Harry closed his door and was both pleased and curious at discovering an old fashioned lock. It provided him some security, as despite the keyhole, the locking mechanism was on the inside of the room. It would do wonders in ensuring that he could complete school work without fear of discovery.

Locking the door and testing it, he was pleased that it worked. Leaving it so, he stood in the center of the room, wondering what to do. He did not think it wise to unpack his belonging, even simply to stow his clothing in the dresser in the small closet. On the other hand, he thought it might send the wrong impression to his host, if he did not display some of his things. He really did want to get to know Bobby, and looking as if he were about to bolt any second would not do.

At a loss for a moment, Harry knelt before his trunk and opened it, pondering what he had that would be safe to display. A couple of his school books perhaps. His herbology and magical creatures texts could easily be chalked up to fairy tales. Judging by the things Bobby seemed to collect, he doubted it would cause issue if he had fictional books on plant lore or beasts. His divination text was right out, however. Even he thought the subject was completely batty. Spying a book Hermione had foisted off on him last year, he pondered a moment.

Did muggles know about numerology? He thought they did, but could not be certain. Shrugging, he added the book to the pile. If Bobby asked, he could play it off as a maths book. Likewise, he added '_Hairy Snout, Human Heart'_ to the mix. He had picked up the book at Hermione's insistence, after discovering what Remus was. Both pleased and a touch contrite at his meager collection of 'safe' books, he stacked them haphazardly on the desk along with the flute Hagrid had given him during his first year, and the pocket knife Sirius had gifted him with.

Next he turned to his clothing. He should at the least, leave a couple articles on top of his trunk for later. Though he was truly embarrassed at the state of them for once. The only clothes he owned besides his Hogwarts attire, were Dudley's hand-me-downs, and the sweaters Mrs. Weasley had knitted. The sweaters were far too warm for the current time of year., while the near-rags were far too large on him, and worn down after years of use. Since he had started Hogwarts, his relatives had not dared even give him that much. For once, Dudley's fat had served Harry at least. Even the clothes from when they were pre-teens still fit loosely.

Letting out a sigh, he shrugged off the embarrassment. He had what he had, and he was proud of the few things he did own. Clothing was only a second thought compared to the things that really meant anything to him. If anyone asked, he could just as easily tell them the truth. Dumbledore had told him to use his own judgment, and had already hinted that the Dursleys were unfit guardians. He knew that what they had put him through was wrong. The only reason he had put up with it was because he had no wish to end up in foster care.

A quiet knock the door interrupted his debate. Startling, he quickly pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, closing his trunk and draping them over it. Hurrying to unlock the door, Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. Shuffling slightly, Harry fought back the urge to try blocking the boy's view into the room. He was nervous about displaying his things as if he belonged. To the contrary, Dean looked pleased.

"Settling in okay?"

Nodding, Harry shrugged. "I'll be here at least a couple of days, it didn't seem right not to."

"Hey, it's okay. Bobby wouldn't have invited you here if he didn't want you to make yourself at home."

The other boy sounded mature for his age, as he reassured Harry. It made the wizard wonder what kind of life they led for such things. The only fifteen year old Harry knew of to be so serious, was himself. Shrugging off the thought, he was distracted as Dean motioned towards the stairs.

"Bobby's back. Said he'd be out in the garage if you wanna come down. Might be a nice shot at talking and getting to know cars at the same time."

Stepping to the side of the door, it was clear that Dean was giving him little choice on the matter. Repressing another sigh, Harry acquiesced, moving past the other boy and making his way down stairs. He floundered a moment, scrambling to remember where the garage was outside. Peering down the hallway, he spotted the backdoor, figuring that would be faster than going out the front. He hesitated when he stepped outside, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the piles of scrap metal and cars.

"Dean told ya I was out here?"

Repressing a twitch as Bobby poked his head around the corner of the 'garage', Harry nodded. The garage turned out to merely be a metal lean-to packed with auto equipment. It was highly disorganized to the point where even Harry was mildly horrified. Making his way over, he gaped a bit at the car Bobby hovered over. It was beautiful, despite his lack of knowledge. Catching his expression, Bobby waved him over to the open hood.

"You ever work on a car before?"

"No."

"Well, now's as good a time to start as any."

Bobby was an impatient, if thorough teacher, Harry soon discovered. His knowledge of cars was mind boggling, and the wizard found himself scrambling to remember everything, as he began pointing out various components of the engine. Despite Harry's fumbling hands, the man did not seem to lose patience with him, merely pointing out needed tools and where they were in the mess. While it looked like chaos to Harry, there was obviously a system, if only understood by the man himself. Satisfied with their collection of tools, Bobby began pointing out what needed to be fixed and how, starting with the carburetor.

Working on the car kept them occupied for most of the rest of the day. It was not until John wandered out to turn on flood lights for them, that Harry realized how late it had gotten. The sun had disappeared almost fully below the horizon without a notice. Bobby seemed just as startled, wiping his hands off on a rag. The other man observed them with a slight smirk.

"What?"

Bobby shifted uncomfortably, and Harry could understand. He was embarrassed, but pleased, with the easy companionship he and Bobby had fallen into during the work. The Winchester shrugged.

"Nothin'. Just thought you'd wanna know, Jim called."

Bobby raised an eyebrow, "Oh? What'd he want?"

"Nothing much. Caleb got himself mixed up with the cops again."

"Balls!" Harry blinked bemusedly. What a strange expletive. Watching with interest, he witnessed another exchange of looks. "He need bail money or something?"

"No, I took care of it. Just be expecting a call soon."

Handing Harry the rag, Bobby made his way inside, still cursing and muttering under his breath. The wizard wiped as much of the grease from his hands as possible. He felt dirty, but in an accomplished way, such as winning a quidditch match in the mud. He certainly required a shower at some point, though John waved him inside, pointing him towards the sitting room-turned-library/museum. Having wiped some of the muck off on his jeans during his work, he felt a bit guilty, though happy to take a seat on the couch. John did not seem to think much of it, at least.

The man passed him a soda, returning from the kitchen, keeping a can of beer for himself. They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Somewhere upstairs, he could hear Dean and Sam arguing over something, though he did not care to get himself involved. As he had learned with the Weasleys, leave sibling rivalry alone. Likewise, he could hear Bobby somewhere in a back room, presumably speaking with someone over the telephone.

Glancing around at the various items lining the shelves, Harry missed John's calculating look. "So, how old are you, exactly?"

"Fifteen. My birthday was two days ago."

John looked surprised for some reason. "Huh. Dean's only a year older than you. No offense, I thought you were closer to Sam's age."

Ire raced up Harry's spine. Of course he was small for his age, thanks to the Dursleys. How on earth could he be mistaken for a twelve year old though? Sensing his irritation, John held up a hand to stave off any verbal response.

"You need to put on some weight, kid. Looks like a strong breeze would knock you over."

Glancing down at his own frame, Harry deflated. Of course the man was right. Dudley's 'diet' of course meant that he had been on near starvation rations most of the summer. Even compared to his normal fare with them. His attention was drawn back to the man, as he sat forward, hands clasped between his knees. He looked relaxed, but it was deceptive.

"There's a reason you're here... other than Bobby, isn't there."

It was not a question. Even if it had been, Harry shook his head negatively. "No offense, but that is a conversation I should have with Bobby, not you, Mr. Winchester."

John gazed at him for a long moment, before something akin to respect lit his eyes. He nodded, leaning back. "Fair enough. Call me John."

They were interrupted as the man himself finally entered the room, beer in hand. He looked a bit frazzled from the phone call, though Harry supposed it was understandable to be tetchy after discovering a friend was in trouble with the law. John excused himself, shooting Harry a look as he exited to retire to his bedroom. Obviously he expected that conversation to happen sooner rather than later.

Mentally preparing himself, he tried not to think on Bobby's possible reactions. In reality, he knew he would have to come out with it soon, if Dumbledore's plans panned out. To say nothing of everything else he was currently hiding. He was certain that if he were to stay with Bobby for the summer, especially if it remained a fixed arrangement, the man would need to know of his wizard status eventually.

"Heavy thoughts for a scrawny thing."

He blinked owlishly at Bobby, slight scowl working its way past his lips despite all efforts. The man claimed John's vacated spot in one of the chairs, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. A once-over at least made Harry more comfortable sitting on the couch without a wash. Bobby was far dirtier than Harry, having done more of the work. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he decided to bite the bullet.

"Bobby, can... can I talk to you, about something?"

The man raised an eyebrow at him, removing his hat and tossing it by his feet. "That's ominously vague."

"It's just... I figure you ought to know something. I mean, it was a large part of my childhood. If... if you want to know, that is."

Harry rubbed his hands together nervously. His words obviously sparked wary interest in his host, by the thoughtful frown that appeared.

"I'm listening."

The lack of encouragement otherwise was slightly daunting. Summoning up his Gryffindor courage, he pressed on none the less.

"My... mum's family didn't exactly want me. They weren't on good terms with each other when she died. I was literally left on my aunt's doorstep with a note pinned to my nappy."

He paused, watching Bobby carefully. The man's face was unreadable, but he motioned for Harry to go on. Drawing in a deep breath, he complied. "The... reason Brian wants me here... is because my aunt wants me gone."

It was difficult for him to sit still, as he awaited Bobby's judgment. The fear coiling in his gut was irrational, but felt none the less. This would be the first time in his life that he admitted, partially, to his own mistreatment. Ron and Hermione knew of it, but he had sworn them to silence, worried that interference by wizards would simply worsen things at the Dursleys if efforts failed. Dumbledore had always seemed certain that Harry should return there every summer. He was confident that the headmaster had not known of the situation before, but did now.

Some emotion finally showed on Bobby's face. Confusion, followed close by understanding, and then a quiet anger, though not directed at Harry. The man looked him over critically, hands flexing white on the armrests of the chair. He was livid, the wizard could tell, and it made him uncomfortable until Bobby spoke up quietly.

"Did they hurt you?"

Staring at his own hands, Harry shrugged. "Not directly. They were more into throwing insults, and making me their slave about the house than slapping me around."

He prudently did not mention the frying pan incident when he was six, or the various bruises gotten from being dragged around by his angry uncle. Or the cupboard. If even the mere notion of mistreatment sent Bobby off, he did not want to know what the man would do if informed of those. They sat in stilted silence for several long minutes, as Bobby got his emotions under control.

Finally, "They starved you."

Harry could not dispute the accusation. His own frame, or lack there of, spoke for itself. "Not normally so badly. But yeah." He refused to defend them or their actions.

Bobby let out a long, slow, breath. Slowly getting to his feet, he motioned vaguely towards the hall. "Go get some sleep. You'll be helping out on the mustang tomorrow."

The wizard simply nodded. He got that Bobby might like some time alone to process the information. He felt bad for dumping so much news on the poor man all at once. Finding out that his wife had an affair behind his back, given up the product of such for adoption, and now that said child had grown up being abused. Everything was affecting Harry less emotionally than Bobby at the moment.

Winding his way back up to his bedroom, Harry undressed as quietly as possible, conscious of the fact that the others were asleep already, from the lack of light under their doors. Laying back, the bed was worlds more comfortable than the firm mattress he was used to during the summer. He simply hoped that he did not have nightmares while he was here. Drifting off to sleep, he spared a thought for Hedwig, wondering if she were content in the Hogwarts owlry.

* * *

Harry found himself floating above Hogwarts at night. It felt peaceful, and the hundreds of windows lit up to silhouette the starry sky with the towers and ramparts, reflecting in the waters of the lake. Where sky and water met, was difficult to discern save vague outlines of the shore. Closing his eyes, he drifted lazily on the current of the wind, relishing in the sensation of flying. He missed flying on his broom.

When next he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find the castle had vanished, replaced with a ramshackle house on a hill surrounded by grave markers. The sight of it jolted his guts, inspiring a terror as he drifted closer against his will. Whatever lay within that house, he certainly wanted nothing to do with it! He blinked.

The inside of the house was nauseating compared to the outside. A smell halfway between rotten meat, and moldy cabbage assaulted his senses, making him gag. Some hysterical portion of his brain shouted that it was impossible to vomit in a dream. The wallpaper was faded and streaked with filth best left unexamined. The floors and ceilings were in a similar state, some holes evident; one allowing an unobstructed view into the basement.

Harry wished he had not looked. Lifeless eyes peered up from the darkness, pale face mutated into a look of abject horror at whatever had ended the woman's existence. Worse still. The wizard reeled away from the hole, clutching his stomach and making a noise half way between a whimper and a growl. Stomach rebelling, he clenched his eyes tightly, trying to sear the image from his mind. There had been a smaller figure laying next to the corpse.

Dreading opening his eyes, Harry was forced to, as a hissing laugh met his ears. Wrenching his eyes open, he glared into violent red. Voldemort. His skin crawled at the proximity, but he forced himself to remain still. The monster was not looking at him, but through him. Turning slowly, Harry's teeth gnashed to keep rage at bay. Wormtail stood mere feet away, bowed in submission, silver hand glinting in the light of the fire place.

Another corpse lay forgotten in the corner, this one male. He had not died peacefully by any stretch. Harry swallowed down more bile, looking away. Wary of looking anywhere else in the room, for what he might see, he focused instead, on listening. The sound of Riddle's voice was nearly as bad, but it focused his intent to not be sick-up.

"What newsss do you have, Wormtail?"

"M-master. The ministry assault... it failed."

"_Crucio._"

The screams echoed in Harry's ears, but he did not flinch. Despite who was inflicting the curse on the rat, Harry could not deny some satisfaction at his suffering. He deserved far worse for what he had done to his family. The thought did spur him to glance around, carefully keeping his eyes away from the one corner. He spied a window, long since boarded up, but it had gaps enough to glimpse the sky. Willing himself to move, he approached, peering out. He was indeed in the house he had seen before, though it offered no clue as to the physical location.

"That is not what I was asking about, imbecile."

"I'm sorry, m-master. Potter," Harry perked up at his name, tensing warily and turning around. They were still focused on each other, neither noting his actual presence. "Is gone. Dumbledore took him away from his relatives. He's untraceable."

Voldemort's face morphed into an ugly frown. He waved his wand carelessly towards Pettigrew, uttering strange words. Lacerations appeared across Peter's skin, causing him to keen out in pain. "You displease me. Were you not supposed to tail the boy, and report his whereabouts?"

"Master, I'm sorry!" His sobbing was pathetic. Harry glanced away again, ashamed of his own vindictive thoughts. Riddle lowered his wand, ending the curse, though the wounds continued to bleed out sluggishly.

"What of the prophecy?"

Pettigrew shuddered, and his answer was nearly inaudible. "Missing."

The rat's howls of agony rang through Harry's mind, even as he was jolted back to the waking world. He flailed at the sudden change, trying to wrench his eyes open as he felt hands shaking him. The concerned faces of the Winchesters, and Bobby, gazed down at him. He blinked as liquid oozed sluggishly into his eye. Swiping at it in a mild panic, he stared blankly at the blood staining his fingers. His scar was bleeding again.


	4. Chapter 4

"John, boys... wanna give us some room?"

They stared at Harry like he was a leper. Honestly he could not blame them, as he continued to gaze at his blood stained fingers. He should have known that there would be no respite from the nightmares even here. The dreams about Cedric's death were manageable now, but the ones about Voldemort... He only twitched his gaze from his hand, when the Winchesters slowly backed out of the room.

Bobby offered him a glass of water, scrutinizing him, but making no other move or comment. Accepting the cup, Harry tensed as he too a sip, mildly surprised as the simple act seemingly caused Bobby some relief. The man finally spoke up gruffly, offering him a washcloth.

"That happen often, kid?"

"No... it was just a nightmare. Must have scratched at my scar in my sleep."

Bobby stared at him for a long moment, and Harry had the sinking feeling that he did not believe him. It was a flimsy excuse, even the wizard admitted it. Finally though, the man shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. "Whatever ya say. I call bull, but it's too damn late for this shit. Try to get some more sleep."

Blinking as the man exited the room with little fuss, Harry waited with baited breath. Sure enough, a few moments later he heard a quiet argument break out, though he could not distinguish words. Letting out a quiet sigh, Harry reached for the cell phone. He hated bothering Dumbledore, but they had to know about this. What if they could track the evil lord down via the things he had noticed in the nightmare? Punching the speed dial, he fidgeted while he waited.

Several seconds passed as the phone rang, before finally it was moved to voice mail. Harry scowled. Of course the headmaster would not answer the phone. Why would he, after years of ignoring other similar such calls for help? Letting out a sigh, he quietly left a message with all the information of the location that he could recall. The talk in the hallway tapered off, to Harry's relief. He did not like the thought that he was causing dispute.

Despite Bobby's order to get more sleep, it refused to come to him. He tossed and turned for an hour or more before finally giving up. Climbing from the bed, he thought it best to not wander after the disruption he had already caused the houses occupants, but he was restless. Pacing the room, he counted that it was six paces to the door from the bed, and seven from the door to the window. Peering out, the sky was already turning dusky gray with pre-dawn light. He hoped that someone was an early riser, so he would not be confined to his room for much longer.

Turning to sit at the desk, he pulled up short as he spied movement from the yard. Instincts kicking in, he dropped to is knees and shuffled closer to peer out. In the darkness, any intruder would not be able to see his pale face, or distinguish his hair from the black. Squinting, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The figure moved slowly, but was obviously not an animal, from the shape. It was inky black in the twilight.

Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, as the figure moved with an almost unearthly glide. It flickered and wavered, making him wonder if he were not simply seeing a trick of his own mind. But it was there none the less. He reeled back in shock as it 'walked' straight into a stack of cars, flickering, and reappearing on the other side. Was it a ghost? But no, unease roiled in his gut. It did not move or look like anything he had seen at Hogwarts.

An audible gasp escaped him at it seemed to slowly turn, head tilting to stare straight at him. He scrambled backwards as a loud shriek reached his ears. It echoed in his head and made him wish to curl up into a tiny ball. Biting through his lip to fight it, he reached blindly for his wand, only belatedly recalling Dumbledore's words regarding magic. But what if the thing attacked? The muggles would be defenseless!

Turning to glance back towards the window, he could not hold back a yelp as a black mass blotted out the pre-dawn light. Tripping over his own feet, he turned to bolt for the door, yanking it open with no regard for stealth. A blast of freezing air hit his back, sending shudders wracking through him as something wet soaked through his sleep shirt. The commotion drew attention, as John's door opened with some force. He was a shining light, but Harry had little time to wonder at the shotgun he held.

"Get down!"

Diving to the hall floor, Harry covered his head with his arms as the gun went off. The shriek sounded again, this time with a pained note. It set his teeth on edge, but he dared not look up until the frigid air disappeared almost as fast as it had come. He grunted as a strong hand clamped down on his upper arm. Yanking him to his feet, John dragged him the few feet to the boys' room, hammering on it, they heard Dean ordering Sam to get under one of the beds. The cool began seeping back into Harry's bones. Whipping around, he did not think upon spotting the blackness rushing back. Withdrawing his wand, he shouted the first thing he could think of.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The stag erupted in a brilliant flash of silver light, charging the shadow before John even had time to react. An indescribable feeling of horror washed through the wizard, as he watched with numb fascination as the glow of the stag briefly lit the thing's face. His stomach revolted at the glimpse of putrid rot and blood. Whatever it was, it was far worse than a dementor in appearance. Turning away blindly, Harry slumped against the wall, cringing at the brief sounds of battle before the thing let out one last cry of agony.

The light of the stag slowly dissipated, and dread coursed through Harry at the deathly silence. Risking a glance towards the Winchester patriarch, he tensed at seeing both John and Bobby, guns leveled at him. The thought crossed his mind to question why they did not seem to be freaking out, but more pressing matters had to be seen to. Like preserving his own life. Uncurling very slowly, Harry crossed his legs and sat his wand on the ground, nudging it away. The action seemed to make Bobby relax, at least. John's expression was inscrutable though, as he glanced towards where the stag had been.

Something about their bearing nagged at some memory, but it eluded Harry's notice for the moment. Shivering from the residual cold and fear, he risked a glance down at his shirt. His stomach clenched and he swallowed hard to keep himself from being sick. The wetness he had felt... had been blood.

Over his head, the two men exchanged a glance, and slowly John lowered his shotgun. He gave Harry a wide berth as he knocked on the door to Sam's and Dean's room.

"You alright, boys?"

Dean's muffled voice confirmed, followed by Sam's. "Stay in there. Check the salt lines and get back to bed."

Harry startled violently when Bobby carefully knelt down to pick up his wand. The gun had been lowered, but not put away, setting the wizard on edge. Did they plan on shooting him for being a freak? The thought made him frown. Making to speak, Bobby cut him off with a head shake, offering him a hand up. Hesitating, the wizard accepted after a moment, legs too shaky to stand on his own. The older man led him downstairs to the kitchen, setting about making coffee.

"Wizard."

Harry tensed as Bobby shot him a glance. "I ain't stupid, boy." He tossed the wand onto the table. "Who you with? You seem a bit young for the 'destroy the world' type."

Irritation warred with self preservation at the comment. Gritting his teeth, he shuddered and picked at one of the few clean patches on his shirt. The blood was quickly drying, making it less repugnant to the touch at least. Finally he got his voice under control.

"I'm not _with _anyone. I'm just Harry."

"Uh-huh. Sure. And the last wizards I ran into were full of glitter and puppies. Cut the crap."

Not able to fight the irritation, Harry watched as Bobby set out three cups, filling them with coffee and milk. He added water to them. The action once again caused Harry's memory to perk up. Something about their bearing, and the way they handled themselves against that creature. It dawned on him slowly, making his eyes widen a bit.

"Hunter."

Bobby twitched. Unease built again, making Harry fidget. Remus had done a lesson about hunters. Most had not taken him seriously, about muggles who were able to ward off and kill magical creatures on their own. Harry had not either, until now, that is. He felt ill.

"I'm not evil. I'm human. I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Some interest flickered in Bobby's expression, as he pressed one of the mugs towards Harry. "Drink up."

The water now made sense as well. Remus' words were slowly being trudged up. Muggle hunters relied on holy water to distinguish demons from humans. Grabbing up the cup impulsively, Harry gulped it down, eyes watering as it burned his mouth. Bobby looked alarmed at the action, moving to take the cup away.

"Damnit, kid. Ya can't explain yourself if you burn your tongue off."

The words brought Harry up short. He was actually going to hear him out, and not just kill him? Letting some of the scalding liquid escape back into the mug, he forced the rest down, wincing as it seared down his throat. Sometime during the display, John had wandered in. His gun was still present, but seeing that Bobby was more relaxed, he leaned it against the side of his chair as he took a seat, eyes never wavering from his observation. The staring made Harry highly uncomfortable, but eventually he found his voice again.

"I was born with my powers. Not all wizards are evil, just like not all muggles are good. We're exactly the same as you, except our magic..." He steeled himself for his next words, "If you want to kill me, you'd be doing Voldemort and my relatives a favor."

The name made Bobby tense up, and he looked grim, eying Harry over. John had a puzzled expression, though seemed to also know of wizards, by his non-reaction to Harry's comments. It all made Harry's head spin. Muggles weren't supposed to know about wizards, so how did they know? Had Dumbledore told them? But it just didn't make sense, they hadn't known what he was before he'd blown it all. What had that thing been? His thoughts raced a bit hysterically, making him dizzy. Picking blankly at the congealing blood on his hands, he missed the look that passed between the hunters.

_When did I get blood on my hands? _Harry bit through his tongue to keep in a hysterical laugh. His frame still shuddered occasionally, as flashes of the _thing_ overwhelmed his mind. Bile rose in his through, making him turn a bit ashen as he recalled its face. Not even dementors had looked so... He didn't register that Bobby had moved, until a waste basket was being forced into his lap, as he spit up the meager contents of his stomach. A hand awkwardly patted his shoulder, though it barely registered. Through the mild nervous breakdown, Harry marveled that he could see corpses, death eater raids, and face down dangerous magical creatures, but this... This was what sent him over the edge.

An inappropriate laugh escaped before he could contain it. It hurt, combined with the burn of acid in his throat. Again, the two adults exchanged a glance. John raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head, turning to leave the room. Harry only half registered it, too busy trying not to cry like a babe. It was embarrassing to the extreme, but the moisture gathered against his will non the less.

Bobby cleared his throat gruffly, taking the wastebasket from Harry a touch warily, as he noticed the change. He hovered uncertainly for a minute before sitting down with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He was not equipped to deal with hysterical teenage wizards. The kid sniffled miserably, hiding his face in his hands. The older man fidgeted in his spot before carefully patting the kid on the shoulder.

"First time ya seen somethin' like that?"

A nod was his only response. Bobby sighed again, mentally cursing John for leaving. The man had dealt with Dean's breakdown at his first hunt, but Bobby had never had to deal with anything of the sort. He made to speak, but hoarse words interrupted him. He had to lean forward to make them out clearly.

"Dementors... never so bad... All the blood."

Eying the kid's frame, he winced. Blood covered him nearly head to toe. The only clear patches were on the front of his shirt, and even that had gotten splattered. 'Dementor' meant nothing to him, but he figured it must be something from the wizard world. Clearing his throat, the man spoke up gruffly,

"That was a Vetala. They're vengeful spirits who return to repossess their own corpse. They kill people they had beefs against in life, and drink their blood to keep from decomposing any more than they already are. All of that," He gestured to encompass the blood soaked teen. "Happened 'cause bein' dead, the blood don't go nowhere. That one was so gorged on it, it was leaking."

The kid turned green, making a dive for the bin. Bobby frowned, mentally kicking himself. The kid wasn't a hunter, but it was habit to fall back on the knowledge when he didn't know what else to say about it, when a civilian became involved. He awkwardly rubbed Harry's back as he wretched some more, glancing away with a grimace. He didn't know how to deal with this 'parental' business. Shaking his head, he tried to dredge up words of comfort.

"It's gone for good. Whatever you did killed it. I'd be mighty interested to hear about it."

Feeling the blood crusting under his hand, he paused. "After you get cleaned up. Doubt any of us are going to be getting much more sleep."

The shower upstairs was running, telling Bobby that John had beat him to the punch. Standing, he urged the kid to follow him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder when he wobbled slightly on his feet. He led him to the back hallway, and waved him into the smaller bathroom. This one only held a sink, toilet, and stand-up shower, but situations like this one were the entire reason he'd built it in. Shooting the kid a look, Bobby turned to make his way upstairs. He wanted to get the mess cleaned up before the kid got out.

The last thing he needed was to have the teenager vomit all over the hallway on top of the bloody mess already there.


End file.
